


i'm the colourless sunrise

by owleyes



Category: One Direction
Genre: Kind of AU, M/M, except they're in the band, louis is an artist, well he likes to paint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:56:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owleyes/pseuds/owleyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he only dreams in colours and shades, the smell of the paint sinking into his skin and surrounding his being, and every night he sleeps wrapped up in harry’s clothing, trying to pretend as if nothing is wrong.</p><p>or:</p><p>harry and louis have a fight and try to deal with being apart from each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm the colourless sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this around the time that i entered this fandom, so that explains why it's pretty shit. also, i suck at endings. all feedback is appreciated.
> 
> title from 'every night' by imagine dragons.
> 
> disclaimer: i don't own anything.

they have a fight, and it’s not a big thing.

except for the fact that it is.

it’s about eleanor or management or something _stupid_ like that - louis can’t remember. angry words are shouted and things are thrown, and harry hastily packs a bag and goes to stay at ed’s. there are accusations and sharp insults and louis just wants to shrivel up and die at the mess they’ve made, because love isn’t supposed to be like this.

harry doesn’t come back the next night, or the night after that, and he’s not answering the hundreds upon thousands of voicemails that louis leaves him, telling him _i’m so fucking sorry, hazza, i didn’t mean it. just come home, alright?_

and louis doesn’t know what to do, what to say. liam talks him down when he gets hysterical and zayn watches shitty reality tv with him and niall keeps him updated on harry, but it’s not enough. they’ve been apart before, of course they have, but never angry at each other, never with their last words being ones of hate.

and sometimes it feels as if he can’t breathe, as if his body is shutting down on itself, not being able to deal with such a large part of it missing. 

so louis paints. he spends hours locked up inside the apartment, not answering whenever any of the boys try to talk to him. he paints his feelings and his thoughts, going through several canvases a day. he starts having to take daily trips down to the local art shop, carefully disguised of course, because he’s running out of materials he only just bought the day before. he only dreams in colours and shades, the smell of the paint sinking into his skin and surrounding his being, and every night he sleeps wrapped up in harry’s clothing, trying to pretend as if nothing is wrong.

he paints large green eyes and smirking lips and locks of curls. he paints laughter and innocence and love, but he can never get it right. he tries again and again, till his head is swimming and his body aches from staying still for so long, but no matter how hard he tries, he can never get harry right. it frustrates him, adds another thing to the list of why he hates himself, and he stops painting all together. the paintings lay abandoned around the flat, the same image over and over again.

louis hasn’t been kissed in nearly a week and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. he spends all of his days in bed, red eyed and wrapped in soft clothing which is slightly too big for him. he knows that he’s being overdramatic, he knows, okay, but knowing that doesn’t make it hurt less, doesn’t make him feel less lost. 

the boys go out with harry, he knows, because they all give him guilty looks the next day. it upsets louis more than it should do to know that harry is fine, is not broken in half and bleeding like louis, but then zayn comes to see him one day, begging him to fix it because _harry is falling apart, lou. he’s just as bad as you._

it’s on the eighth day (louis has been counting. it’s the only thing which has kept him going) when he decides to give up. his stomach hurts and his eyes have all dried up and he can only see the world in black and white. the bottle of pills feels strangely reassuring in his grasp, heavy and final. 

but then the door opens and the clocks stop and it’s been eight days, three hours and thirty-four minutes since louis last breathed. harry stands in the doorway, his green eyes dull and his lips pulled into a frown and his hair is flat on his head. he looks nothing like the paintings that are sprawled around the flat, but louis doesn’t think that he’s ever seen anything so beautiful in his life.

they don’t say anything (they don’t need to), just express their apologies in lingering touches and soft kisses and gentle eyes. _i’m sorry_ is breathed into shoulders and _i love you_ is caressed into hip bones and _please don’t ever leave me again_ is repeated over and over, a soft pair of lips promising _i won’t i won’t i promise._ they discuss it afterwards, harry wondering aloud about the multiple pictures of him around them, and louis just blushes and says, “i missed you,” again, and it’s okay because harry always wanted to fall in love with an artist. 

they all go out that night as a sort of celebration, to a little chinese restaurant not far from the apartment complex. it’s hidden in plain sight between a bank and a funeral directors, and the owners love them to bits, often slipping a few extra fortune cookies into their pockets when they’re not looking. 

harry and louis are joined at the hip for the majority of the evening, and everyone sighs in relief that their little bunch is back to normal. they laugh during their meal and tease each other like usual, and everyone smiles fondly at niall when he bounces happily in his chair at the fortune cookies the waitress offers them.

louis cracks his open and unravels the small slip of paper. _hold on to what you love and you’ll have it for a lifetime._

harry nuzzes into louis’ shoulder at that moment, and whispers, “you smell like paint.”

louis wraps his arm around harry’s waist and pulls him even closer. he looks at the rest of his bandmates and thinks about how he’s never letting any of them go. “i love you too.” 

  


*

**Author's Note:**

> i've never had a fortune cookie before so am basing the message on films i've seen, so sorry if it seems unrealistic.


End file.
